Number that matters
by FrozenSpectre
Summary: My response to one of the microfic challenges a long time ago in Blue wiki. Explores the reality of life and what happens in the end. Warning: Contains character death. One-shot.


**Number that matters**

The winter was over and spring had come. It's usually considered a time for nature to stir and shrug away the constraining chains of the winter before its time for blossoming and beauty. Yet this early spring time was unusually cold and gloomy. The weather was rainy and chilly, lacking all of the normally characteristic warmth and expected sunlight for the time of the year. And this particular day had been worst kind so far as there were heavy rain and beginning of the storm.

Thanks to wretched weather outside, not a soul can be seen anywhere on the outside. It was obvious that people had gravitated towards interiors. Preferring to stay at their homes or anywhere else they could have savored the warmth and enjoying their gateway from the cold and dark spring weather. In other word, people were waiting for better, more warm and beautiful days. They were waiting for summer to come.

And it's because of this, that there is no one else to see a lone figure outside. Someone, who is defying the gloomy and rainy spring day, while purposely striding towards some destination only the figure knows. If there would have been someone else outside to see this lone figure, they would have wondered, why this figure was out in that abysmal weather. Especially after seeing the current state the figure was in.

What can be seen from the rain, this lone figure was dressed in simple jeans and jacket, which colors had faded long time ago. Clothes the figure was wearing, were not made for this weather, so one is left to wonder, why those were chosen. Haircut was completely ruined, as it was now completely embedded to figures head only dripping even more water to already soaked clothes.

Seeing the state this figure was in, anyone outside would have asked what was going on. Most would have even stopped the one looking like that and tried to help the figure. And very least tried get them in some form of shelter. But if there would have been someone else out there to do any of this, they wouldn't have received an answer or even an attention from the figure. As this lone figure had solely focused for the purpose of being there and there was nothing to disrupt the figure.

Slowly, but resolutely, with certitude seemingly build from experience of going through the now familiar route, figure approached its destination. It's not before the end goal can be seen ahead, that the figures purposeful stride becomes agonizingly slow ambling, until after a few meters figure stops close to a worn out and broken gate. It's there, that the figure takes a shuddering breath, as if to compose itself, before finally taking one last step to stand at the front of the gate. Only then, the figure raises its gaze and for the first time looks at its surroundings.

In left and right, there is a heavy metal bar fence that is clearly worn out and slightly tumbledown in many places. But it's still doing its job, encasing a cramped area, where the only way inside, is through heavy duplex, but otherwise completely blank metal gate. Only real discernible factor in the area is two still mostly intact gargoyle shaped embellishment flanking the gate at the both sides.

But again, the figure isn't seeing any of this as the sole focus is directed to what's locking the gate. It's sealed with shabby looking chain, which had, like anything else in there, seen its best days in the far distant past. And what's keeping the chain together and the gate clocked, is a padlock. But it's this final item, which is in clear contrast of everything else around. As this padlock is gleaming, if only barely, and it's obvious that it's new. Someone else to see this might have stopped to wonder, that why there was relatively a brand new padlock in place, while all else around there was worn down by the time.

But the figure doesn't stop wonder and only reached to its pocket, rummaging it for a moment, until pulling out a still shining key to open the padlock. The chain was unceremoniously pulled off the gate and simply dropped on the ground next to the gate, before the rarely used and creaking gate was pushed open. The sight greeting the figure was bleak. And if the locked gate wasn't evidence enough of that there had been no one else in there for a long time, then the sight greeting the figure was all that was needed to confirm it.

Cracked and blacked stone were all around. Some of them had retained part of their shape, while most were just indistinguishable piles of broken rocks in seemingly random pattern. Ground was covered with ash and dirt and all of the rain in that day had turned all of it into mix of brown, black and gray muddy mess. And there were absolutely no vegetation of any kind to be seen anywhere. It all seemed completely random. But if one was to look around close enough, they could see something more, they could see that these piles and crumbled stones had purpose of being there. Closer inspection would have showed that they were once headstones.

In ever increasing rain and now chilly wind blowing the relatively open area, anyone watching would have come to realize, where the lone figure had arrived. It was an old graveyard. And if sight greeting everyone to see it, would be needed to explain in few words, those words would be something like following.

'Devoid of all life. The very definition of 'dead'. A true graveyard.

Yet again, the lone figure doesn't pay any attention to the surroundings. Instead, with deliberate movement, clearly showing to any possible observer that it was not unknown place, the figure navigates amongst cramped and rubble filled pathways of the graveyard. It only took few minutes for the figure to arrive a small clearing, which stood out in the otherwise broken and worn out graveyard. As this small area, where the figure had arrived, was relatively clean with still mostly intact headstone. And it's in there that this figure spoke for the first time.

"Hey," the gentle, only barely audible voice from the wind says. "It's me again."

Figure takes steps closer to the headstone, clearly avoiding from stepping directly at the front of headstone.

"It's been a year and as promised, I'm here to tell you that I….." Rest of the voice however, was lost in the wind.

As figure continued to speak, the rain was whipping the figure in the face. The howling wind was getting worse, further swallowing all the words spoken by the figure. But it was not really important to hear what was said, least of all for the sole figure doing the talking. What was important was to get those words out.

By the time narrative was reaching its end, lone figures eyes were moist, but not from the rain this time. As there were now unshed tears glistening at the corners, slowly mixing with the rain, but still refusing to drop. And when the narrative finally ends, it was followed by moment of silence, before the figure spoke again.

"I miss you." Were softly spoken words to come out of figures mouth.

After saying those words, the figure drops down on its knees on the ground and next to the headstone. Figures already wet clothes even further soaked by muddy water and now tarnishing them with grime lying around. But as before, it's ignored and all the figure cares is small device, which was pulled out of one of the jacket pockets.

"I made this for you." Figure says with a voice that truly cracks for the first time. It's followed by small sob and a lone tear trailing down the figures right cheek, only for tear to be lost within all the other wetness from the rain. When the figure continued to speak, it was with even greater difficulty.

"This…. this is something that you taught to me on early days." Figure nods to a small device at her right hand. "Back at High School, with Jordan." The device is gently put down at the base of the headstone.

Figure looks at the device for a moment, before moving its gaze back to the headstone. After all short pause, figure spoke again. "You taught me that, sometimes things happens and….and they are so bad that people…. don't know…. how deal…. with it….that….."

Every word was becoming an increasing struggle to get out, while silent sobs had become more frequent with each word. Prior unshed tears were starting to flow freely now, forming perpetual trails of tears on the both cheeks that were soon lost into the rain. But like with everything else, there is always breaking point. Point, once reached means that there is no return. And it was reached with next words.

"…that you should …should….. write…."

But with that line, last final word and a thought attached to it, all of the reminding floodgates of the dam, the very foundation build to confine figure's emotions, completely broke down. Flood of repressed emotions were unleashed, overwhelming everything in the path of oncoming waves, crying in its earnest had begun. And for the longest time, there were two sounds fighting for dominance on the graveyard; Howling wind and cries of anguish and soul-wrenching pain. After all sometimes, even words, spoken or written are simply not enough.

Time lost its meaning and the lone figure had no idea of how long she had been crying, as it could have been hours or just minutes. But after a time, the crying slowly turned back into quiet sobs. Then shortly after even those sobs died away, leaving the figure just feeling hollow and empty. And in the wake of these emotions warring for the dominance, only movement the figure does, was to lean towards blackened headstone.

Warm lips met the cold stone in a deep kiss. In a kiss that conveyed what the figure was feeling and everything that the figure had lost. After a long-standing kiss, the figure finally leaned away. While figure leaned away, there can be seen a small lips shaped clean spot on the stone. And if someone was to look at the figure, they would see lips covered in blackened grime and ash, creating unpalatable lipsticks.

But yet again, this detail doesn't matter for the figure. All that mattered was that with this last simple act, last kiss, lone figure managed to compose itself again. But it was never going to be the same, which was reflected in the next words spoken.

"I'm so lost without you." This barely audible whisper was followed by a gaze mixed with deep anguish, but nearly tangible love.

Only after holding this gaze for a while, blinking all the remaining tears away, the figure finally stood up. And directing one final withering look, one last silent goodbye, the figure face becomes emotionless mask, something that the figure had not used, had not needed for years. And with that mask in place, figure turned from the headstones and headed away from the graveyard and into the storm that had finally reached the figure. And while walking away and having this emotionless mask in place, the figure still knows that all of these emotions, all of this pain is never going away. Know that, there is never going to be a summer ever again.

* * *

And when the figure had left hours ago, two completely unrelated things happens at once.

All of the raining had causes the grime coating the kissed part of the headstone to lose its grasp of the stone and to fall down. Revealing only some of the text it had been covering, but it tells anyone reading it all that's needed to know. As it says….

_Here lies John Connor, leader of….. _

And while grime coating falls down, the small device left behind what was suddenly brought to life and it started playing a simple, yet meaningful message. Meaningful to one, who left it behind and to one, it was now meant to.

***73***

Days, it took from me to find you.

Hours, it took from me to get to know you, the real you.

Years, I got to spent with you.

Date, the enemy was defeated and last time I were just mere machine.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

Happy 73th anniversary John.

With love, Cameron Connor.

* * *

_A/N: Originally this was one of my micro fic entries back in the day, when we had those challenges on Red and Blue wikis. The basic idea is still the same, but it's now re-written version of that story._

_Speaking of my microfics, I have decided to look at them again and if it's in any way possible, re-write and improve them all, before posting them in here. I can't say how long it might take from me as it depends on my available free-time and my writing moods, but it's eventually done._

_And yes, some of those micros are going to have the same theme as this, that is to say something that was considered back then as Jamdeath. But there are going to be others, which are much happier John and Cameron stories too._


End file.
